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I have lots to say about Recom Quaritch in bed, and when I think of sex with quaritch, I don't picture him as a soft, gentle and chary sex partner, no. I see a sharp witted recom na’vi who teases you to no end, he's rude, arduous and isn't afraid to let you know what he wants and how he wants it. And what's so frustrating about it is how easily you give in, unable to turn a blind eye to that body and sexy voice. Another thing that's so frustrating is that your partner has absolutely NO filter, and he's so smooth about it (unless obviously it's something the both you agreed to to not bring up in bed) he says the most atrocious things, explains in detail how he's going to fuck you with his large hand wrapped around your throat, and somehow it comes out perfectly suave and unstilted.

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"Feels good doesn't it, sweetheart?" The recombinant pauses his licking to nip at your inner thigh, sharp teeth itching to sink into your soft sensitive flesh. You whine and huff loudly, your calf coming up to push his head closer to the problem at hand.

"Don't be petulant." Quaritch hisses, shoving your leg away with his shoulder. "I can leave you here to suffer on your own, y'know, all needy and valuable." He laughs almost manically at your alarmed expression.

"Don't you dare! I'd fucking kill you."

He slaps his palm against your hot pudendum, causing you to shout profanity. "I'd like to see you try.."

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Quaritch gives oral for himself, not for you. With his new size and strength, there are endless amounts of opportunities, his tongue now longer and thicker, and arms now stronger, he forces you in the most obscure positions while he eats you out. His obnoxiously loud slurping would embarrass you if you weren't so distracted with how ethustiasclly you were rutting against his face, he sounds almost barbaric with his lewd groans and moans. He's scarily skillful and accurate, sucking on your parts just right to have you mewling and crying in ecstasy

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While Quaritch may not have a daddy kink, he sure as hell does have an authority kink. You address him as sir and nothing more, (occasionally he'll be nice and let you call him whatever you'd like) Speaking of which, the recom has a wide variety of pet names for you, ranging from, Sweetheart, Sweetie, my Lovely (ALONE ONLY Lol), Play thing/Pet, Tiny etc.

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Even if you both aren't quote on quote being "freaky in the sheets" that doesn't stop quaritch from being very touchy feely with you, alone or in public, he's not a huge fan of PDA but he'll always have a hand on your hip, the small of your back or just standing really close to you. Alone, he's worse, he slides his hands under your clothing and squeezes whatever he can get his hands on.

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One word, Missionary, it's a simple and common position but that doesn't make it any less pleasurable, this position gives him total control and give you little to none, and he LOVES IT, he likes it when you keep your shirt on so he has something to grab and pull you down with. Not to mention had a perfect view of your face and throat, which means he can lean down to suck and bite as much as he pleases.

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Angelo pegs you as his the moment he rolls into town. Sticks to you like glue, day in, day out, lapping at your heels like a giant love sick puppy.

It’s cute, when he tries to be gentlemanly, and it isn’t long before you’ve got eyes only for him.

So naturally, you’re devastated when the Beast gets him. Half dead from blood loss, half crazy as he ranted about an animal bigger than any wolf, faster then any cougar-

“I saw it, baby, I did, really, I did-” he looks so small in the nest of blankets you’ve gathered, his normally tan skin pale, sickly, and he flinches as you touch the cold cloth to the thick gashes that line his shoulders.

Tutting at him, you take care as you peel him sullied union suit away from the wound. The stench of blood fills the room, choking you almost as much as your tears as you try and fail to hush his rambling.

“Thing bit me, sug, you- you gotta put me down-”

“Angelo-”

“Ya gotta.” His hand is massive as it cups your cheek, it’s steadiness making you sob. “If I turn-”

“You won’t,” a sob escapes your lips, ragged and wet. You kiss his palm. “You won’t, no one saw you, Angie, no one has to know.”

His eyes level at you. “You would do that for me? Keep that secret?”

The nod you give is humble, sheepish, before you press your lips to his cheek. His beard scratches your mouth, itchy. “I love you, Angelo. I don’t wanna do this with anyone else.”

He makes you promise that you’ll keep scarce on nights when the moon is full and high. Makes you stay with friends, telling them that Angelo is out with a hunting group, looking for the monster.

But this time you don’t. Curiosity is it’s own beast, and it leads you back, deep into your yard to the edge of the desert where a shack sits. Small. More of a hatch than a shack, an entrance way, really.

You follow the feral growls and huffs, each steps brings them closer, louder, and your throat catches as you realize you’re right outside the door.

The room goes quiet, silent, except for the faint sound of your breathing. It takes all your strength to lift your hand to the knob, and even more to turn it.

The door opens in a slow creak. Creeping inside, you tighten your grip on the blade at your side. “Angelo?”

The dark room is still, completely still. A coldness stabs your heart and you realize it’s fear-

Because what stares back at you is not the man you married.

A beast, certainly, even hunched over there’s so much of him, coarse hair covering his entire body; his limbs long, distorted, his face canine and twisted, but the eyes are the same; chocolate brown and wanting.

“Oh, Angie,” you breath, spellbound by him as he stands tall.

Your neck cranes to look him in the eye, but your gaze can’t stay in one place. He’s terrifying, yes, but also beautiful, and your man is in there somewhere.

The Beast growls, dark lips curling back to flash sharp jagged teeth. The floorboards groans as he shifts, his nostrils flaring the closer he gets. It’s almost a swagger, as he walks toward you, not quite bipedal, but not fully on four legs either-

His eyes shine a wicked yellow as he inhales your scent. Head cocking, he sniffs at you. Grumbles, his long tail curling around his back leg as his head bows to you.

A smile worms across your lips. “Oh good. You recognize me. That’ll make this easier.”

Your cape drops, leaving you bare in the warm summer night air.

Angelo may not be in his right mind, but he knows an offering when he sees one. Jaws snapping, he crowds you deeper into the room, away from the door, deeper into his little dungeon.

The only light shines through a caged window, but it doesn’t matter. You know he can see you perfectly as he herds you into the corner. Blankets, ones you’ve made, ones you’ve given him, are shredded, piles of fabric shoved into the dingiest part of the room, farthest from the window-

So he wouldn’t have to see himself.

His head butts your stomach, backing you into the cold, grimey stone wall. The tickle of moss, the stark cold, nips at your spine, as you coo, kiss the top of his giant forehead.

You don’t smell like him anymore. It’s been two days since you’ve seen him, two days since the beast tore a man asunder. In truth, you were doubtful of Angelo’s innocence in the act, but frankly, you didn’t care who your husband ripped apart-

As long as he came home to you in the morning.

Sharp teeth nip at your hips, a long tongue dipping low to lap at your belly button, he nuzzles you, desperate to cover you in his scent once more. The coarse fur stings as he caresses you in rough strokes over your hips, your stomach, your mound.

The scent of your sex makes his hackles high.

A hot swipe of his tongue drives your shoulders back, deep into the damp stone. “Angie…” You groan as his hands, massive and clawed, grope and squeeze your thighs, every touch accompanied by a prickle of pain, pleasant and sharp, that makes you arch your back into him. “Missed you…”

And fuck did he miss you. Muzzle buried in your cunt, he digs into claws into his palms-

Every instinct says to bite and tear and shred, but he can’t- couldn’t possibly- couldn’t ever- not to you. Never to you.

The hands that slide over his arms, his shoulders, are gentle but heavy, you want him to feel you, want him to know it’s you, and you bury your short human nails into the coarse hair until you feel flesh. “Angie-”

Bitch wants it. It’s a flash in his mind, the only consent he needs as he stands.

The sight of his cock weakens your knees. Angelo was always a gifted man, but the erection he has now is inhuman- thicker at the base than the flared tip, an angry shade of red as he reaches down to stroke himself with a clawed hand.

You stop him with a careful touch. “Let me.”

He growls, hand unmoving, as you get one your knees for him. The thin blankets are a pitiful cover to the cobblestone floor, but you hardly notice the cold biting at your skin, too focused on holding your husband’s gaze as you wrap your fingers around the base of his cock.

A soft gasp leaves you. It feels different, firmer, than a human dick. It’s less rigid as you move up from the base, but not much.

Each pull of your wrist lengthens him a little more and soon your gaping at an intimidating mass. A bulb of flesh swells at the base, and you trail a curious finger over it.

Above you Angelo lets out a ragged pant.

“You like that, huh?” A smile stretches over your lips as his hips start to move, chasing the relief of your touch.

The Beast moans as you lean forward to suckle the knot, licking and sucking at the stretched thin flesh, hot and weighty against your tongue as his cockhead drools globs of white cum down the shaft.

A clawed hand touches the top of your head, the knuckles finding your cheek and rubbing fondly as you peer up at him through loving, half lidded eyes. His gold ones watch you with just as much care, the flex of his hips minute as he fucks your palm.

The warmth of his come on your fingers earns a quiet coo from your lips as you pull off the fat knot to kiss his cockhead. The flared tip spits salt across your tongue and you lap it down-

He tastes the same- the same salt and sweat and musk, it’s just stronger now-

“Mine,” he grunts, never taking his eyes off you.

You nod, tonguing the slit tenderly, back and forth, until the knot in your hand begins to throb. Tightening your grip on it, you coax him between your breasts and whisper, “Yours, Angie, always.”

Your husband snarls, his claws catching your skin as he drives your shoulders back against the wall. Hot come paints your chest, drips down your tits as he buries his claws in the stone above your head.

“Come on, baby…” You close your eyes, let your head fall back against the wall.

The coarse fur of his thighs, his stomach, chaf your sensitive human skin, but it’s worth it as he begins to moan, raspy yes, but familiar all the same. His hips drive into your shoulders as he fucks your tits, smearing his come across your neck, your chest, as he pants, hot and wet, against the top of your head.

You think it’s over when the torrent slows, when he scoops you up under your arms and lifts you to your feet. His spend drips from your tits, clings to his fur, as he twists you around, manhandles you onto your hands and knees-

You lose your balance, collapsing onto your arms as he positions himself between your thighs. The arch of your back is perfect bitch form, and Angelo is quick to take full advantage, slamming the full length of his impressive cock into you in one smooth thrust.

You had the foresight to prep, of course. To finger yourself open until you were loose enough to take whatever dick he threw you way, but this- this was so much bigger than you expected.

“Angelo, fuck, fuck-”

He growls at your pitiful attempts to rock, to gain a little control, and pins your head to the cobblestone floor with a meaty paw as he begins to pound you. “Bitch.”

Your heart flutters along with your belly at the word, at his claws so close to your face, your throat-

He groans as your tight walls clench with fear.

Fuck, you swear he’s still coming, you can feel it, coating your insides with every thrust, fucking you deep and hard-

The coarse hair on his thighs, his belly stings as it grits against you like sandpaper. He’s heavier in his form, his musclar stomach bearing down on your back, his giant form radiating heat. Whining, you pant his name, and wince when it only makes him fuck you harder.

Sweat falls into your eyes as you moan. He’s stretched you out so far and you know there’s more to go, can feel his knot bouncing off the rim of your sloppy hole, each time managing to get a sliver deeper.

“Mine, mine, mine-”

His fangs press into your jugular.

You keen, “Angie!”

A warm wet tongue take their place and he laps at your tender human flesh.

“Angie, Angie, please fuck me, baby, fuck me full-”

He growls.

“I want it, want you, just you, fuck me, fill me up-”

His hips slow, his nose finding your jaw as he forces you to bare your throat to him. “Bitch,” he grumbles, eyes fluttering as he grinds his fat knot against your sloppy hole.

Your neglected clit throbs as his knot rubs it, grinding against it from the inside as he focuses on working it into you.

“Yes, please, Angelo-”

A howl tears through him, and a scream through you, as it finally pops inside. The pain is unlike anything you’ve ever felt, and for a brief moment you feel like a virgin, frightened and eager and in so so far over your head-

But it’s good, so good, as he floods your channel with a copious amount of thick come, his knot sealing it all inside, and he keeps fucking you, fucking it deeper into you, making sure it takes-

You whine as he twists, his hips never pausing their tiny desperate tweaks. He snuffs at your neck, drags his hot tongue over your sweat slick skin as your legs shake and your toes curl.

“Angie-”

The hand pinning you is large across your back, he throws his weight behind every movement and you come apart with a scream that he matches with a grunt.

His hips never stop. Not after your first orgasm, or your second, not even your third. You lose count fairly quickly, your eyes fluttering closed as he keeps pumping come into your sloppy pussy, the sickening squelch reminds you how full you are, so full you can feel his semen slosh inside you with every movement, your insides starting to cramp as you babble, cockdrunk and weak underneath him.

“Ang- Angelo-”

His hips don’t stop. The steady pounding bloodying your knees, your forearms, your cheek-

The smell drives him wild. Fuck, you smelt so good before, ripe and fertile and wet, but the twinge of blood in the air sets off his deepest instincts, makes you smell like a bitch in heat-

Your head lifts as he licks your cheek. A soft rumble leaves his chest as you weakly suck at it, your pitiful human mouth too small to do much more, and fuck, he can’t wait to see you, full and sweet with his pups, one after another, there wouldn’t be a day goes by where you weren’t filled by him-

“Angie…”

He grunts, hips slowing as your legs finally give out. Catching you with ease, he lays you on your side, the new angle causing his waning knot to pop out of your ruined cunt. Angelo huffs, noses your hip at the waste of his spend-

Your fingers dip between your thighs. Clenching down is futile, doesn’t stop the flow of his come down your thighs, wet, hot, and sticky. “No…” You whine, lifting your hips. “Angie…”

Glowing yellow eyes watch as you try to shove it back inside, your movements clumsy and sincere, and he nips at your shoulder as his monstrous hand joins yours.

The press of his giant fingers against yours startles you, the coarse hair directly against your abused cunt making you mew, but your weak legs part dutifully. There’s not much dexterity to his touch, just random pushs toward your hole.

The yelp you give when he finds it startles him, and Angelo backs off with a huff, nuzzling and licking and nipping at your throat, drowning in your smell, your sweat, your tears-

“It’s not gonna take-”

He growls.

You sniffle. “Angie, it’s not gonna take if it’s not inside, please, please-”

His erection is depleted, softening but not gone. The Beast lays behind you, chin resting on your shoulder, he nudges it inside.

It fucking hurts- you’re not bleeding, not torn, just bruised, your tender insides are battered and bruised, you can both feel your pussy throb and you whimper-

“A-Angelo…” Your eyes flutter as he holds you close.

His chest against your back is wonderful, the fur rough against your scratches, your bruises, but his body heat makes your eyes flutter. Leaning into him, you rub his arm as he noses your cheek, your jaw, as you drift off to sleep.

It’s morning when you wake, and you’re alone.

Well, not alone alone, but alone on the floor, naked and cold, as your husband dresses on the other side of the room with his back to you.

“Angie?”

He stiffens, freezing a moment, before he goes back to tucking his tunic into his chaps. His movements are jerky, quick, as he pulls the black suspenders over his shoulders. “We had an agreement.”

“We did,” you agree. Reaching for one of the torn sheets wrapped around your legs, you pull it up. Every muscle twinges in protest, but you manage to get it up your thighs, over your sex.

“I thought you were smarter than this.”

“Well, ya thought wrong,” you reply glibly.

He rounds on you, a faint rim of gold still lingering around his dark eyes as he snarls, “You think this is funny?! I could’ve killed you!”

“But you didn’t.”

“You didn’t know- you couldn’t possibly have known I wouldn’t-”

The sheet drops as you stand. The sight of your body, bruised and chaffed and scratched, makes him wince, and the gold is gone as he blinks hard.

“Angie. I never doubted you for a second.”

He lets you kiss him, sighs when your lips press to his for the first time in days and he wraps you up in his arms and holds you tight.

“I did,” he croaks against your neck.

Your fingers find his dark shaggy hair and you smooth it back as you tut. “Oh, baby…”

He huffs, runs his hands over your back, thumbing the swollen flesh, the deep knicks and welts- swallows, before he frowns. “They’ll think it got you.”

“It kinda did.”

“We’ll have to leave town.”

“I know.”

He frowns, gaze dropping to your stomach. “What- what if it takes?”

The shoulder you lift is weak. “I knew that was a chance when I came.”

“Why did you?”

“Because it’s you,” you say simply. “I knew I’d be safe because I love all of you, just like you do me.” You pull his brow to yours. “You could never hurt me, Angie.”

Curtis Curt Connors doesn't drink. And you feel a pang of guilt make its way to the pits of your stomach every time you take a sip of your wine. It's like eating meat in front of a vegetarian. He refused a drink last time after you had brought out the "Domaine Leroy Musigny Grand Cru"–it was really just Yellow Tail–(Despite wanting a taste) he let out a huff and sparingly told you off for being "irresponsible"

Nu-uh? Sure, you brought it out every Friday, believing you deserve a nice drink after such a busy week. But you weren't irresponsible. You just liked it.

You don't dare to ask why he doesn't though, afraid it might be a touchy subject, but you make an effort to offer every time anyway.

"Want some?" You lift the glass of red wine in front of you, high enough that it reaches his less scaly chest. You twirl the cup between your fingers for more significance, the opulent liquid sloshing around. “It has less of the tannic taste and more of the sweet, smooth kind of taste.”

Even from where he was sitting on the ground, his figure towers over you at an intimidating height. His hands stop their fractious writing and his head tilts to the side like a hound, his tongue darting out to taste the sweet and floral–with a hint of grape–scent. Smells nice, But instead of answering your question, his hellfire eyes unintentionally begin to trail along your chest, to your stomach and all the way to your bare legs. Even without a single drop of alcohol In his system, he could feel something deep in his bones, vibrating and swirling in hysteria, threatening to spill out if he got even the slightest peek at your undergarments. "That's quite the nightgown."

Instantly you feel embarrassed, the garment had come with a robe, which made sense considering how short the gown was, just barely covering your green lace panties. You clear your throat before a small thank you, voice barely above a whisper, as you cast your eyes down momentarily to your feet. You squeeze your eyes in an attempt to get past the wine haze to try again. "So? You want some?" You lift the cup to take a sip yourself, licking your lips slowly with a hum. "It's yummy."

He eyes your tongue as his own rubs against the roof of his mouth, exploring any ridges or bumps it may have, silently wishing it was something else. He blinks harshly and huffs, one drink couldn't hurt. The puff of air makes you giggle as your hair flies up and down on your face.

"I suppose there's no harm in having a good time." Curt says. He gently takes the beverage from your hand, his hand comically huge compared to the cup, he's careful with his long sets of nails and takes a generous swig. “Generous” as in, he drinks the whole thing.

"More?" He asks, handing you the now empty glass.

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He lied when he said he was going to have only one more.

Who's irresponsible now?

Everything is hazy and fuzzy, Curt is always boasting about his ability to think straight, but now he can hardly think of anything at all. Your loud, erratic breathing and the vulgar sound of squelching coming from your mouth as you take him deeper-stomach clenching as you gag-is all he can focus on. And your gown. Now ripped to shreds, that exposes your breasts, pudgy stomach and that naughty green thong. Now pushed to the side that allows any of your natural juices (lmaoo) to leak out

His tongue feels heavy, as much as he wants to taunt you the way he always does, or degrade you the way he knows you love. He's unable to say anything at all, the only sounds emanating from his mouth are loud groans and pants. Your cheeks puff as he pinches your nose shut, cock hilted in your throat, the only indication of enjoyment is a loud muffled moan that sends a shock of pleasure to his spine that makes the scales on his neck to refashion into a dark purple.

Your eyelids drop closed as your hands squeeze the fat on his thighs, jaw opening wider, reaching out farther to grab the back of his legs to pull him in closer, to force his cock deeper. The wine seems to be working its magic because you don't seem all that bothered from the lack of oxygen. Curt's hips buck, and you choke, shudder, and let yourself go limp to be used. Your cunt is pulsing and aching to be touched, your heartbeat so loud in your ears you hardly notice the whine the lizard makes.

A talon covered hand comes down to stroke your head, nails messing up your already tangled hair, trailing down to your jaw and squeezes. Finally, unable to deal with the absence of air, you begin slapping his thigh, and with surprising mercy, Curt pulls out slowly, making sure to stroke the head of his cock on your cheeks and lips, smearing the mixture of his cum and your spit everywhere.

He says something, leans down and jerks your jaw upward to trail his prehensile tongue across your collarbone all the way to your adams apple. You mumble incoherent words sluggishly, completely ignoring his own hums and such.

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Curt lifts you up on the table, and pulls you towards him until your ass is hovering off the edge. The only thing keeping you from falling is his large hands wrapped around your calves, distantly aware of the wine glass tipping over and spilling all that was left, neither of you could find it in yourselfs care.

Soon, he has you in some sort of mating press with your legs wrapped tightly around his hips,, both hands moving frantically, unsure of where to rest them as you wail. His head lays a little bit above yours, chests pressed firmly on together with enough pressure to keep you still in his grip. Pushed up extra close for safety, but also because nothing adds to the experience like the feeling of your heartbeat thumping against his chest.

With his mouth so close to your ear, you can hear every little hiss, moan and sometimes a breath of your name, and that occasionally lusty groan that has you shivering. And each thrust forces out those adorable "uh, uh, uh"s from you that he adores, he cant think at all anymore, your sweet scent is driving him wild, it has his mouth salivating uncontrollably, it spills all over. The pigments of your hair color, the tables and the green from his own arm almost seem to light up around as he continues to fuck you like a rabbit in heat; his knees spreading out even wider.

Your cunt is damp with his never ending reams of precum. The slick and wet noises only adding to your desperate need to be bred.

"B-baby, mmpph-ffuck, ..". You squeal and cry out your pleasure as the lizard chases his own release.

His hard grinds become rough, desperate humps into your gummy walls, and despite the alcohol causing his body extreme exhaustion, his need to breed was all-consuming. His pupils blown wide as his tail swishes uncontrollably. His pumps are so erratic that it has your mouth open in a silent scream.the point of his bulbouse head pulses and rubs at your cervix roughly and it hurts, but it's hurt so so fucking good.

Eventually, Curts orgams ripples through hin as did yours. Long thick streaks of cum drool out of your cunt in multiple spurts as he continued to roughly hump into you.; his loud growls and snarls mix with your loud cries and gasp in body-wracked pleasure.

The room's air once fresh and chill, now humid, murky and thick whith the scent of wine and from the sheer sweat of his body and heat from your movements.

Maybe Friday-Wine wasn't so bad after all.

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